


Ordered Movement to Music

by Perfunctorily



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alcohol, Ballroom Dancing, Food, Gen, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension, slimy diplomat hux, space banquet, unexpectedly competent kylo, unsolicited butt touches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-05-31 23:36:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6492253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perfunctorily/pseuds/Perfunctorily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Relatively newly promoted General Hux is invited to a formal dinner to celebrate a successfully secured alliance, with one catch: Kylo Ren is his date. To his great surprise, Ren seems to know much more about this sort of thing than one might expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ordered Movement to Music

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for this prompt on the TFA kinkmeme 
> 
> http://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/3467.html?thread=7311755#cmt7311755

Hux had always been rather fond of his dress uniform. Not that the smart, charcoal grey flared hip trousers of the First Order standard were by any means inelegant, but pulling them on in his quarters, he could admit that there was something viscerally pleasing about the neat lines of the dress blacks' perfectly tailored slacks that appealed to some small vain part of him. They had a slightly more slim cut in the tunic, exceedingly flattering, and the silver and red first order insignias on the shoulder and crisply turned down collar stood out so sharply, a splash of crimson in a field otherwise entirely black and chrome. Were he the type given to admiring himself in the mirror, he would have dared to venture that he looked rather good in it.

That was little consolation.

This dinner was going to be a catastrophe.

“The royal family of Sariindan have extended their invitation to two First Order representatives to attend a celebration in their palace, in honor of the mutual benefit their planet and our cause may reap from our agreement” Three days earlier, Hux’s mouth had already begun to curl slightly at the corner in a small self-satisfied smile as he spoke to the towering projection of Supreme Leader Snoke. He had no small cause to be pleased. He had, after all, spearheaded the diplomatic campaign to sway the Queen to pledge her loyalty —and the considerable natural resources the rare-metal rich asteroid belt that girdled the Sariindan system had to offer— to the First Order. By no means a stupid woman, it had taken quite a bit of bargaining to convince her. But in the end, protection, and considerably lower, more steady tax rates than the republic had to offer, as well as an almost entirely sincere and deeply impassioned speech on Hux’s part on the subject of how certain the ultimate supremacy of the First Order over the remainder of the galaxy would be had persuaded her to bend the metaphorical knee. The invitation was an affirmation of his effectiveness, confirmation that his still recent promotion had not been given in error.

In truth, he did not need to be calling snoke's direct attention to it. The Supreme Leader did not make a habit of addressing petty matters like a formal dinner. Hux attended them regularly and could have been briefed in his sleep, but it had been an invitation for two. That made sense, most people attended these events in pairs, one brought a date to formal dinners, and two First Order officers were much safer in unfamiliar territory than one. However, Hux did not have quite the authority to decide who his accompaniment would be. Given liberty to choose, Hux would have brought Phasma: steadfastly reliable, not given to talking very much, and utterly terrifying in a ballgown, she was ideal both as security and as a dinner companion. He did not get his hopes up for that liberty.

The great holographic head had nodded once and spoken “I wish you to attend this celebration, General. And Kylo Ren will accompany you. The leaders of many systems will be in attendance, no less than both my strong right and left hands shall be there to demonstrate our might.”

Hux’s mouth had frozen, mid curl, and gone entirely dry. “Sir” he’d said, without question, and bowed and left. Snoke's orders did not brook argument.

Kylo Ren. At a royal dinner. The idea was so patently ridiculous that Hux had to replay the memory of the Supreme Leader’s words several times over before he truly believed that he had heard them correctly. Ren was certainly an excellent tool for demonstrating _might_ , but the notion of that creature at a formal function of any kind was simply absurd. It would have been laughable if Hux wasn’t fairly sure that he’d be laughing at the death of his hard-won alliance with Sariindan, likely throwing his competence as a full general into question, not to mention complete humiliation when his date arrived in a tattered cowl and thoroughly unnecessary face-bucket, and slashed the table, as well as some terribly important dignitaries in two in a fit of histrionic rage.

Ren was not even, technically, an agent of the First Order. He was affiliated only unofficially through Snoke. He was an independent contractor, if anything —Hux did take cursory glances through payroll. Ren was not listed. He had checked—

He sighed, Running pomade through his hair and parting it, ruler straight and perfect, with the air of a gladiator securing his last bit of armor into place before what was certain to be a lost battle, grabbed his folder of dossiers on important partygoers, and set off toward the hangar to board a shuttle. Good grooming would not save him from utter disgrace that evening, but one took what small comforts one could, and his impeccable appearance would not be what did him in.

Hux had not had the opportunity to meet with Ren in the intervening three days. Throughout the two of routine patrol, and the entirety of the hyperspace jump to the Sariindan system, Ren had been sequestered away in his quarters, doing gods knew what. Hux expected he was likely stewing over the fact that from all evidence, he had been raised by womp-rats in a cave somewhere and would need to figure out the intricacies of using a fork. So when Hux, in his high polished boots and crisply pressed jacket, stood impatiently before the shuttle that would take them planetside —half an hour early, General Hux was never less than twenty minutes early. For anything— he watched a tall man in dark robes stride the full distance into the hangar before he recognized him.

Good god. That was Ren.

Maskless. In a flowing, one shouldered hip length cape in place of his singed cowl, he walked with only the faintest shadow of his customary slouch. The fabric somehow managed to clasp at one shoulder and drape across his chest, reminiscent of his usual ridiculous getup, but with none of the tattered, fluttering melodrama that made it so tacky. The material was finer too, wool? No, some synthetic blend surely, hemmed in red, it was dramatic to say the least. A black vest tunic, longer than Hux’s uniform, but in the same style, flowing at the bottom in a way that was evocative of the silhouette he was so used to recognizing as it stomped around his polished hallways. A stiff, high collared shirt beneath pulled it all together in an effect that was both elegant and martial, in a vaguely predatory way. Hux’s mouth went dry for entirely different reasons as Ren stopped in front of him. Up close, he saw the clasp of his cape was a small, metal, first order insignia. Of course.

“Ren.” He nodded curtly by way of greeting. Determined not to let any shock show on his face, or to gape openly for that matter. Had he actually brushed his hair? It fell in loose, dark curls, swept away from his face, looking almost regal.

“General.” Ren responded, just as curtly. But his eyes shifted, almost furtively glancing away towards the shuttle instead of holding Hux’s gaze. Was that a hint of self consciousness? Or just how he was? Hux had never had occasion for a direct conversation with the knight without his mask before. He’d caught glimpses, a vague impression of pale skin and unruly dark hair, but he certainly had never been able to study his habits where eye contact was concerned.

They fell into step and climbed the short ramp into the hatch of the shuttle. Ren did not look at him, and he studied Ren from the corner of his eye. It was some small relief that he did not seem to have his lightsaber with him. Hux himself did not have a sidearm. Coming armed to a celebration in honor of a peace agreement was gauche in the extreme, but he did have a knife in his boot. It never hurt to be prepared for the worst. Similarly, energy sword or no, he knew that Ren was never truly unarmed. The knight could likely take out an entire banquet hall of diplomats with his sorcery alone, should he so choose.

The shuttle thrummed to life and the silence grew heavy around them as chatter between the pilot and hangar control died down once they left the finalizer behind. Hux had had quite the briefing prepared: a preliminary nagging about not murdering any important officials, a rundown of who to avoid, who to be extra polite to, an outright threat to once again reiterate and drive home the point that this was a _diplomatic_ mission and that absolutely no officials were to be murdered, even a little bit, lest Ren find himself on the wrong side of an airlock and Supreme Leader’s wrath be damned.

But none of that seemed to be the sort of thing this Ren needed to be told, with the easy way he carried himself in the elegant robes, one might think he attended a gala every weekend. A rumor Hux had heard some time ago was called to mind, about the origin of the master of Snoke’s Knights of Ren. He had filed it away under information that was likely to be entirely frivolous, but had the vaguest potential to be of use, if for keeping his finger on the pulse of shipboard scuttlebutt alone. Leia Organa’s wayward son. The idea was ridiculous. But it seemed as likely as any other theory now.

He pushed the thought from his mind. So Ren could brush his hair and put on a nicer set of robes. It signified nothing with regard to his potential for proper etiquette. And it certainly did not suggest that he was related to General Organa in any way shape or form.

Sharply, he pulled himself out of the state of disbelief he’d been in. He could not very well stare agape at Ren the whole shuttle trip. If they were a team, then they were a team, and they needed a plan of attack. Never mind that it was the kind of attack in which no one died. Tactics were still tactics. The objective was clear: make a good impression, solidify the treaty, demonstrate to those who still held out that bowing to the first order was desirable for both the benefits, and the consequences that failing to do so would eventually bring.

He snapped his folder of dossiers open and handed several to Ren. “These are the leaders of the five nearby systems who still refuse our diplomatic advances. We’re to target them most closely.” If Ren was startled by his sudden launch into strategizing, he did not show it, taking the flimsiplast readily. “I expect you to concentrate on the prime minister” he gestured to the picture of an older woman, smile lines marring her fine slender features. “She’s known to have a fondness for tall young men. Compliment her hair, she has the most expensive stylist this side of Naboo.”

Ren might have scoffed. “And who’s your primary mark?”

“The senator from Avaria.” he said blandly. Hux would be be dividing his attentions between the already swayed queen of Sariindan and the senator, who his inquiries suggested would respond more to the military soundness of an alliance with a tactical powerhouse like the First Order than seduction, though, the potential advantage of the senator having had a strawberry blonde mistress several galactic standard years ago was not entirely lost on Hux.

He then handed the rest of the folder over. “I also expect you to have a cursory familiarity with everyone in here. They won’t know you, but it will pay for you to know them.”

“We arrive in ten minutes” Ren’s voice betrayed his exasperation ever so much more satisfyingly without his mask.

“Then I suggest you start studying”

Perhaps this would not, actually, be a complete disaster.

_______

It was, by all accounts, a classy event. The anniversary banquet of the date of Sariindan system’s unification. Conveniently falling so recently after the alliance with the First Order, it was an ideal opportunity. Representatives from all the most wealthy and influential systems in the region were essentially required to be there, and the Order’s presence was impossible to ignore.

The royal palace was in the heart of Sariindan I’s capital city. Still relatively new, —The influence, and affluence, of the Sariindan system was on the order of decades, rather than centuries old, having begun its rise to power only in the twilight years of the old empire— all tasteful halls with geometric metal decorations, large windows overlooking the city, the sparkling view veiled with delicate angular filigree. The effect of walking into the banquet hall, with it’s dazzlingly complex chandelier and patterned marble floors was nothing short of breathtaking. Or rather, it would have been, if Hux did not do this regularly, and made a point of not allowing himself to be terribly impressed by anything.

He did, however, allow himself to be pleased by the impressive figure he and Ren cut entering the hall, all black and red with hints of silver. His own measured military stride offset by Ren’s graceful stalk. Judging by the dip in the hum of conversation as dozens of pairs, or sets, as the case and species may be, of eyes turned toward them, followed by a surge of poorly concealed whispering, it must have been quite impressive indeed. The effect was somewhat compromised when he had to leave his greatcoat at the door —which was patently unfair, Ren got to keep his cape— but it was satisfying nonetheless.

“Remember. No murdering. Under any circumstances. We’re here in honor of peace. All threats must be at least thinly veiled” he muttered sidelong to Ren as the first wave of greetings swiftly approached.

“I’m not utterly stupid. Go butter up a senator” Ren hissed back. Hux would have retorted, but he was already beset with several hands to alternatively shake or kiss, and lost sight of Ren entirely. The queen made eye contact and nodded decorously, if rather smugly, from across the hall where she was entertaining a gaggle suitors. That was not a shock, she was widowed, under the age of sixty, and absurdly rich. Her veritable armada of cousins, children, nieces, and nephews mingled with the crowd of dignitaries of various standing, several shooting dark glances suitor-ward. He knew all about that sticky situation, but it fell under personal matters that were unlikely to affect the steady flow of raw Oridium to First Order refinement facilities the alliance had secured, and was not technically something he had to concern himself with.

Hux made his rounds, greeting each partygoer in turn, making small talk, congratulating recent weddings, answering questions about First Order affairs with vague yet satisfying answers that gave little to nothing about their actual operations away, getting his ass squeezed on no less than three separate occasions by a Grand Duchess, and the foremost grasping appendage of what he had gathered to be the equivalent of a trade minister. The Grand Duchess had done it twice.

It took nearly a full half hour, but he managed to see his way clear to the drinks table, and grabbed two glasses of criminally expensive champagne while silently debating to himself whether he still liked the dress slacks better than his uniform trousers. He spotted the Avarian senator and settled just on the affirmative side. Crisp lines outweighed the possibility of getting groped occasionally by lascivious Grand Duchesses.

“Senator” He offered the left champagne, taking a sip from the right.

“General Hux” the swarthy man replied, taking the glass, but not matching Hux’s carefully friendly tone “I was wondering when you’d slither your way over here”

“Now now, no need for that. I’m here in the spirit of friendship, Senator. I hear it’s Unity day: something the Queen holds very dear. Let’s not allow political affiliations to tarnish our mutual friend’s celebration?”

The senator only grunted into his champagne in response. Hux swirled his in it’s glass, letting the pause breathe before speaking again.

“A bit ridiculous though, isn’t it? On the verge of war with the republic and here we are, sipping thousand credit champagne at a banquet.” The senator’s grunt, this time, was one of agreement. “Would that we had this kind of budget leeway on our newest trooper training facility” He kept his tone casual. He wanted the senator to think of him as a soldier, not a slimy diplomat. Specifically, the kind of soldier who casually let slip information about the First Order’s impressive standing army of highly trained storm troopers that could provide protection from New Republic forces at a moment’s notice.

“Have many of those, do you? Training facilities.”

“Oh yes, quite a few. These days we’re turning out nearly a thousand combat ready troopers per month” He downed the rest of the champagne, letting the sharp tang of alcohol and carbonation wash over his tongue. The officer’s bar did not stock stuff anywhere near this quality. Or this complimentary. “But if we had the budget this party did, I’d venture we could be producing half that again in as much time”

A bushy eyebrow quirked, and he knew he had his foot in the door.

He deftly fielded the Senator’s questions about training and troop assignments, and allowed his attention to drift past the man’s shoulder to where he finally found Ren again, who for all the world looked to be engaging in sparkling conversation with the very Prime Minister Hux had assigned him to. He was shocked, if pleasantly so.

Ren said something, the Minister giggled into her daintily gloved hand. Her companion, a waifish sort of youth, nearly of a height with Ren, who might have been anything from her son, to her valet, to her current liaison stood by, fussed with his mop of fair hair and looking increasingly miffed with each delicate laugh the Prime Minister gifted Ren with. This cycle continued for several minutes, until the youth stepped forward and said something cutting to Ren, Hux could not make it out, but the hard syllables carried weight even through the ambient chatter. He saw a flash of intensity in Ren’s eyes and felt his stomach drop.

Here it was, all down the drain. Ren would snap the fool in half. He could picture it: the young man suspended by his throat above the crowd, Ren’s face contorted in rage. The gasps, the glances his way, the queen’s outrage, Snoke’s disappointment.

But it didn’t happen.

The brief moment of tension passed and Ren was once again gracefully nodding along. The Prime Minister scolded her date, and Ren gave a crooked smile.

“General?”

Hux realized he’d been gripping his empty glass very hard indeed.    

“General?” His eyes refocused on the Senator in front of him, who had evidently noticed his lapse in attention “You were saying, regarding the possibility of the Republic making a move on the ore rich systems in this region?”

“Was I?” He placed the glass on a passing waiter’s tray. “Oh. Yes. Of course. As I was saying. The uncharted regions are by far the most rich in easily accessible rare minerals such as Oridium and Guerrerite. The core worlds are nearly mined out, and should war become unavoidable. I have little doubt the republic would make a grab for them, regardless of your, or any other leader’s wishes”

“And you’re saying the First Order would guarantee protection if we exclusively sell to you”

He hadn’t even had to make the suggestion himself. Hux smiled mildly at the senator and took another glass from the trayfull that was shoved between them by a waiter.

“And if I were to tell you that the New Republic had already made a similar offer?”

“I’d tell you that each of our storm troopers are equivalent to the combat ability of five republic soldiers, groomed from birth for loyalty, and deployable by the thousands to anywhere in thirty parsecs within an hour.” His smile thinned to a cruel pale line. Avaria was not fifteen parsecs from half of their facilities.

It was not technically a threat. But the sentiment was quite clear: fetch a pretty price for Guerrerite and bonus First Order protection, or get perhaps a slightly higher price from the Republic, but when push came to shove, as it doubtlessly would, face the Order’s wrath along with every other Republic sympathizing system.

The senator paled under his beard. “A thousand a month you said?”

“Trained in state of the art combat simulations” he confirmed

The senator nodded thoughtfully, but did not seem to want to continue the conversation. Likely for the best, pushing the issue would ruin the headway he’d already made, so he bid the senator farewell, parting with a handshake and ensuring that he had his private comm line.

Hux had intended to make his way over to check in with Ren, when a shift in the atmosphere led them all toward a table at the end of the hall that had, as if by magic, become lavishly set during the cocktail hour. He and Ren were, of course, seated next to each other, Ren on his left.  
He did not wait for Ren to sit before he did. He was polite to a fault, but would be damned if he was going to be chivalrous to someone who had personally slashed expensive bits of _his_ ship to pieces with an offensive, poorly designed, and frankly appalling overdramatic lightsaber, even if he did look rather dashing at the moment.

“Making progress on our Prime Minister?”

“Naturally.”

“Good”

The dinner itself was a five course endeavor, the appetizer something delightfully spicy in a thin broth, followed by various dishes, each more extravagant than the last. Hux ate only perfunctorily, no more than a few bites from each dish. He was not here to enjoy himself, and being overfull on rich food would be more distracting than anything else. He did manage three more glasses of wine though, white with the appetizer and two different reds over the course of the meal. He was not much of a wine drinker, preferring scotch or whisky during his rare indulgences in his personal life, but he needed to keep more than a fraction of his wits about him, this was still a mission, even if he had completed his primary objective of opening conversation with Avaria and even making significant headway on them.

His fork related doubts were quickly put to rest when Ren successfully, even effortlessly selected the proper utensil for every course. The fact that the knight opted to ignore him in favor of quiet conversation with one of the queen’s nephews was also a relief. It was boring, though, when the governor to his right was much more engrossed in his food and had no attention to spare for any kind of repartee. With nothing to focus on but the wine and the indistinct rumble of Ren’s voice next to him, and being far above shooting jealous glances in that direction, he fell to eavesdropping.

“And she’s just putting up with this endless stream of them, parading them all past us as if the first one she decides to boff won’t be making off with all our inheritances at the first opportunity!” The nephew was whining.

“Mm, that must be frustrating”

“Oh it isn’t the half of it! You should see the gifts they think are appropriate." A bony hand was lightly brushing Ren’s elbow occasionally. Hux found himself disliking the nephew on principle, with his slender limbs all draped in intricate beading, pale faced and his entitled whining so honed with what must have been years of near constant practice. "But i’m sure I’m boring you, tell me, what is it you do for the First Order? I’m sure it must be terribly exciting with the way tensions have been mounting”. Hells, was he really trying to get information out of Ren by clumsily flirting? Hux could have snorted.

“I’m afraid my job is even less interesting than your Aunt’s love life” Ren replied, unperturbed by both the flirting and the wheedling.

Hux raised an eyebrow at his largely untouched dessert. Neatly done. Ren would seem to continue to perform far above Hux’s expectations.

Despite his calm demeanor, Hux thought he might have noticed the tension in Ren’s shoulders tightening, not that he was looking very carefully, nor could he blame him. The queen’s nephew was so aggressively uninteresting that Hux himself might have found maintaining a conversation with him difficult. He tried very hard not to visualize exactly what an overly bored and annoyed Ren might do to the object of his annoyance, and the surrounding table settings. But just as he was beginning to fear that he’d have to step in, there was a delighted squeal and the nephew was abruptly dashing from the table towards the dance floor where guests were beginning to congregate. The drinks table that had recently occupied the space had vanished, replaced by a small stage where five musicians were setting up their instruments.

He would dance with the queen first, as he had yet to greet her properly, even if he did run the risk of the wrath of both her suitors, and her collection of jilted relatives. Standing, he opened his mouth to give Ren directions. But before he’d gotten the chance to warn him away from dancing and advise him to simply stand on the periphery with a drink in his hand, Ren had gone with a dramatic swirl of his cape. Without notifying or consulting Hux.

Hux was forced to follow him, keeping the part of him that felt slightly blown off sharply in check. He’d give Ren the dressing down about coordinating with your partner during an operation he soundly deserved later. For now, the queen had finally caught his eye, and he had an alliance to solidify.

_______

The music pranced along, cheerful but stately, each measure clearly marked and audible at the turnaround. This was the kind of dance that always got done at events like these: stiff, predictable, more an adherence to pointless tradition and an excuse to see who danced with whom than an opportunity to show off any kind of real skill.

As a child, several of Hux’s afternoons per week had been full of etiquette lessons, dancing was one of the harder learned ones. It was easy to remember what fork got picked up when, or who to call “Your Excellency” and who to call “Your Grace”. Compiling large amounts of information into orderly stacks in his head was what he _did_. Dancing was more intuitive, hard to simply pound into one’s brain. But he learned. There was something appealing about it, ordered movement to music, a whole floor of people harmoniously moving together like clockwork. So he learned. He always did what was expected of him.

And what was expected of him now was to charm the queen and show her that her decision had been a wise one. Before that though, he looked for where Ren had strode off to in such a rush. The nuisance was right in the mix of it, a pang of anxiety rose in Hux, images of mayhem flashed behind his eyes, but Ren seemed to be handling himself deftly, dancing with the very same Prime Minister. It might have been his imagination, but as he watched, Ren’s shoulders went tense and he glanced up at to meet Hux's gaze over her shoulder. A dark, frustrated glance, almost a glower, before he was turning away and hidden behind several other couples. What was that about? But Hux had no time to wonder, as he was now standing in front of the queen of Sariindan herself.

He genuflected and kissed her extended hand. Such ritual signs of supplication didn’t actually mean anything, it was she who had truly bowed to him, this was just for show. She accepted, her face indulgent.

“Your Majesty, might I have the privilege?” A suitor glared from ten feet behind him, Hux ignored him. Let him glare daggers, Hux had a knife in his boot and absolutely no interest in wedding the queen for her money.

She inclined her head and took his hand. Hux lead the her to the dance floor. They fell easily into the gently turning crowd as partners switched off. It was a simple dance: a basic box step, turn, then repeat, again and again, steadily makingthe round of the floor until the music did a little flourish and partners changed. With the music and the hum of conversation to cover whatever was said, the Queen finally spoke.  

“I see you’re making yourself very popular tonight, Bren”

“Please, everyone knows my first name is General”

She chuckled, low and warm. “All right, all right. Who’s your tall handsome friend? He’s made quite the impression himself. Elia might actually take a bite out of him if he lets his guard down” A quick look in the direction the queen indicated showed Ren, several couples over, dancing with an attractive, dark haired girl that was unmistakably related to the queen. They made quite the pair, her hand rested so naturally on Ren's shoulder, clearly enjoying herself. Ren, every bit the dashing young noble. Looking at them, Hux felt a flash of something hot in his chest. Indigestion? Regret for having finished his fifth drink of the night on top of nothing save some of the broth from the appetizer and a few bites? Whatever it was subsided for the most part when he turned his attention back to the queen.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you”

“Oh no?”

“That, my Queen, is Kylo Ren: Master of the knights of Ren”

She quirked an impeccably sculpted eyebrow at him, then mock-pouted “I suppose that means a new nephew is entirely out of the question”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Ah well. Maybe I can foist one of mine off on her, poor girl.” Her face turned ever so slightly devious. “And how goes your little pet project? The one you were so eager to tell me about during negotiations. What was it, Sunsetter?”

His smile tightened. A surge of shame mixed with the rush of pride he got every time he thought about it. The Starkiller project was strictly confidential information. The very conspicuous nature of excavating half a planet and converting it into a hyperspace superweapon, and the consequential complete impossibility of keeping it hidden meant drawing as little attention toward it as possible, especially in it’s delicate half-constructed state. He may have gotten a bit carried away during his fervent speech to her on the subject of the future galactic supremacy of the First Order and let slip that it existed.

“It goes.” He said with finality as they came into the last turn. “Sariindan’s contributions of Oridium are greatly appreciated” She smiled indulgently again. He took it as a good sign.

He parted with the queen feeling uncomfortably like he’d lost the upper hand somehow, despite the fact that she seemed more than pleased with the alliance, even fond of him and the First Order’s cause. He did his best to shake it off, chalking it up to the fact that talking to her always had the effect of making him feel like he was talking to his mother. Reminding him how young he was, seeming to look through him in a way that was entirely unlike, and yet just as effective as the methodical stripping bare effect of the Supreme Leader’s gaze.

Hux danced one round with some inconsequential rim-world diplomat, focused on his next move, and decided that yes, he did regret that third glass of wine. The problem was that the dance they were doing required partners to be shuffled very specifically every few lines. One partner went left, and the other right, and then all the couples began the dance over again with whoever happened to be there. If his calculations were correct, that would put him with the Handsy Grand Duchess in a few moments. Unless she took the initiative and tried to lead the dance with an ambassador Hux did not recognize.

Alas. She did not. The ambassador clicked away on shiny talons and Hux forced a smile at his new partner.

Predictably, her hands did not maintain the proper closed dance positions. He ignored them, and made bland conversation. “Oh, you know how it is with the Order, I get my commands and I ensure they get carried out.” The general’s stripes on his sleeve should have been enough to tell anyone that he did a great deal more than relay orders. But she was not actually trying to wheedle him, and did not require a more elaborate dodge than that.

What he had not predicted was for Ren to have switched to a following position during his last dance, and to wind up face to face with him after the trade. However, he did not allow himself to miss a beat, stepping neatly into place and continuing just in time for the music to pick up again. To his credit, Ren went along with it, allowing himself to be led. His form was impeccable. The predatory grace with which he usually stalked about lent itself beautifully to dancing. His feet might not even have been moving in squares for how smoothly they went. Hux should not have been as surprised as he was, after everything he’d seen so far that evening. But he couldn’t help it. Where the hell had Ren learned to _dance_?

“Would you stop that?”

He was yet again surprised. Ren sounded, and looked, genuinely annoyed, his bare face markedly unguarded from displaying his emotions. “Stop what?” Hux in turn, was genuinely puzzled.

“Being so surprised at everything.”

“What are you talking about? i’m not—“

“Just because you didn’t personally draft my training sims doesn’t mean I’m a complete incompetent.” Ren cut him off with hard tone that carried far too well in his deep voice.

“Be quiet. People will hear. And if you don’t want to listen to me being surprised at you not snapping and hacking the place to bits then stay the hell out of my head.” Or he could comport himself more respectably on a regular basis. Then maybe Hux wouldn’t be forced to constantly imagine worst case scenarios whenever Ren was involved. That aside, it was more than a little distressing that he hadn’t even felt Ren’s intrusions into his thoughts.

“I Am!” Ren thankfully dropped his voice back down to a murmur, if an emphatic one. “Do you think I want to hear your every rant about me? You don’t exactly think quietly, General”

The song wound down to an end without any more partner switches, leaving he and Ren standing still, facing each other awkwardly in the intervening silence. Hux could not very well snap back at him while the whole room held its breath waiting for the next song. He _thought_ Loudly? What in the hell did that mean?

What they should have done was separated. They should have left it at that and continued on to other partners to continue the objective, but their conversation was not yet done. And as quickly as it had stopped, the band started up again.

“Stay out. Of my head.” He said sharply as they stepped back together. Ren just rolled his eyes.

There was a moment of stiff indecision as both of them tried to take lead position, but then the music was advancing and they couldn’t stand there forever. Ren’s hand slid into place at his back, and he rested his reluctantly on Ren’s shoulder. So. Ren would lead. That didn’t mean anything. The triumphant smirk that graced Ren's ridiculous mouth had no cause to be there. Dance was a collaborative exercise, lead and follow were symbolic at best. This had nothing to do with power, he was not giving Ren any power over him in allowing him to lead the dance.

The measure came around again, and they were off. A similar waltz, with more of a progression, the whole floorfull of dancers spun counter-clockwise to the music. Hux idly noticed, while avoiding looking at Ren lest he still be smirking intolerably, that the Chandelier had begun to spin in the opposite direction at the same speed. He rescinded a small part of his initial refusal to be impressed. Whoever had programmed its grav-lifts had an aesthetic flare that he could appreciate.

Ren led just as well as he followed, gracefully turning them around the floor. His hand was very big on Hux’s shoulder blade and he was altogether far too aware of it’s presence.

Much to his chagrin, Hux was floundering slightly. His head was floating a bit more than he’d have liked, that third glass of wine was still haunting him, he had not followed in quite a long time, and he was not accustomed to dancing with someone taller than him. It should not have been difficult, it was the same basic steps, just in reverse, right back instead of left forward. He wasn’t even going backward more than he would have been, and yet Ren was practically carrying him through. He found himself wanting to look down, almost stumbling. The drills his childhood tutor had repeated over and over again rang in his ears. “The floor will still be there when you step backwards. Trust your foot to find it. one- two-three. one-two-three”.

Ren smelled nice.

One-Two-Three Hux repeated in his head, a bit louder as they moved in time. It was a complex scent, something spicy, ever so slightly sweet with a deeper undertone, almost an earthy scent. Sandalwood? Hux had not noticed before over the pervading metal smell of the shuttle or the food at the table, but now, mere inches away, the perfume was quite pleasant. He could hardly have imagined that Kylo Ren would think to wear cologne, let alone that he seemed to have good taste. Hux tried very hard to focus on counting threes, and possibly going over starkiller’s schematics level by level and calculating current budget discrepancies, all to avoid wondering where he might have acquired it.

“That. Stop that. You think too much, and too loudly.”

“Thinking is my job, Ren. You should try it occasionally. That and respecting the concept of privacy”

A swell in the music, and Ren raised their clasped hands. Hux did his obligatory spin under them, but his footwork left something to be desired. He stopped spinning when he should have, but his head did not, the room tilted dangerously, and suddenly Ren’s hand was doing more than just resting on his back. The wide spread of his fingers pressed hard into Hux’s shoulder blade, holding him up where he'd nearly stumbled disastrously. His breath caught and he held fast to Ren’s shoulder.

“Perhaps you should try thinking a little less and focusing a little more on dancing?”

The arm baring a large amount of his weight dug into his side, immovable as an iron bar. For once, Hux found himself speechless. Glad for the high collar of his dress uniform, and the fact he tended to blush from the chest up. As if on cue, the music transitioned effortlessly into an even slower song, intimately slow. The counterclockwise motion of the room ceased entirely as people found partners they wanted to cozy up to. Ren’s hand slid further back and down, resting firmly on the small of his back. Hux found himself all but swallowed up in him. Eyes level with the dark curls that loosely cupped Ren’s ear, mouth practically pressed to the folds of his cape where it cascaded over his broad shoulder.

“Relax” Ren murmured to the side of his head as they moved

“I told you to stay—“

“I’m not in your head. You're so stiff, It’s like dancing with a droid”

Hux did realize he’d been tensing all of his arm and shoulder muscles, almost painfully now that he was aware of it. He forced himself to relax. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Cutting me off. It’s rude” There was no venom in the words anymore, he was smiling slightly into Ren’s shoulder.

Ren chuckled and he felt the puff of air on his ear. They were more swaying now than dancing, feet just barely moving. His footwork was perfect, now that he’d stopped thinking about it. If he stopped worrying for half a moment, it would have been very enjoyable, not talking, just moving to the slow melody, breathing in the perfume. Until he heard the lift in the music that meant the song was coming to an end.

Ren shifted, pulling Hux to the right so they were face to face. He saw that Ren’s face, so strangely open, was pinkish around the cheeks, his dark eyes shining with something Hux could not quite decipher. He felt hot under his collar. Their faces were mere centimeters apart. Ren's mouth really was unreasonably soft looking, wasn't it. The room fell silent as the song closed, and they stayed like that for a full moment. He could see the indecision in Ren’s eyes, the quiet hope.

Hux did not give him the opportunity to make the choice.

He pulled away, trying to steady his breathing which seemed to have stopped at some point, straightening out his already perfectly straight uniform. “Thank you for the dance. Lord Ren” his tone was clipped, but still far too breathless. He either needed to have had one less drink, or quite a few more.

Without looking back, he left the dance floor.

_______

Hux did not see Kylo Ren again after the awkward, silent shuttle trip back to the Finalizer. He summed up the event in a brief report, relaying the advances in wearing down Avarian hesitance to negotiate, the significant headway Ren had made on the Prime Minister, and the Sariindan Queen’s marked contentment with the agreement. All in all, a success. He did not includ any mention of the dance with Ren.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think Ren was avoiding him. Or at least, making himself scarce. There were no outbursts, no wrecked panels. No terrorized officers. Three full days without a whiff of him.

And then, abruptly, he was back. As if nothing had changed. Hux arrived on the bridge a half hour early to alpha shift to watch what amounted to morning settle in around a well functioning ship, and Ren was there, looking out of the large triangular windows, as he so often was at odd hours.

Hux fell in next to him, gazing out at the stars.

“General” The helmet inclined slightly in his peripheral vision and the reflection in the transparisteel.

He returned the nod “Ren”

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, both looking out at the galaxy. Then Ren turned away, leaving in a swirl of tattered robes, and just the slightest lingering scent of something spicy, slightly sweet, with a hint of sandalwood.

 

**Author's Note:**

> All comments are greatly appreciated! Feel free to come bother me on tumblr, I'm [azrakabam](http://azrakabam.tumblr.com/) over there


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